


lest precious love slip away like time's sand

by SharkbaitSekki



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Basically Verdant Wind but Dima is alive, Captivity, Dehumanization, Dimitri whump, Feral Dimitri, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Blue Lions Route, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Golden Deer Route, Gen, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Prisoner of War, Whump, kinda crossing with
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2019-10-14
Packaged: 2020-12-15 23:17:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21026381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SharkbaitSekki/pseuds/SharkbaitSekki
Summary: After a hard-won victory over the Great Bridge of Myrddin, Byleth and Claude find something unexpected hidden well within its depths.(Or rather, someone unexpected. Someone presumed dead for the better half of the war. And oh, with all that's been done to him, perhaps it would have been better for him to stay dead.)





	lest precious love slip away like time's sand

**Author's Note:**

> It's whumptober and I am not nearly motivated enough to go by prompts, but I did write this, so that has to count for something. I usually write psychological hurt/comfort, but this is... this is straight-up self-indulgent Dimitri whump. And Dimileth comfort. 
> 
> Basically inspired by something Ignatz said on my 2nd BL run, right before we went for Myrddin. He said "[It] isn't just a bridge. It has the features of a fortress. I believe it was built for military purposes [...] _ So if we occupy the Great Bridge, we'll have to search it from top to bottom _." That's... interesting of you to say, Ignatz. I wonder what we can expect to find so deeply hidden in this fortress! (Hint: Dima)
> 
> So this is set on the Verdant Wind route, with the Blue Lions recruited, and set right after chapter 16. Claude's dialogue at the beginning is quoted from the game itself. I was also inspired by the visual of [this twitter fanart by COSU](https://twitter.com/guessibetter/status/1178882383023607808) for like one scene, but I won't say it's based on the art because it doesn't follow the attached prompt. Check it out, though! It's delicious Dima whump, too! Lastly, the title is from the game's theme, "The Edge of Dawn", and the lyrics that precedes the title lyric is "Don't ever take back your kind hand". You'll see why that's relevant :') 
> 
> Okay, let's go. Enjoy!

Taking back the Great Bridge of Myrddin was no easy feat, and judging by the looks of the exhausted Alliance army now beginning to collect their dead and mourn, the battle had been very closely decided in their favour. A little too closely, even, if their many casualties were to have a say in it.

Thankfully, Claude’s superior sense of strategy had won out in the end, and under Byleth’s careful battlefield guidance, the Alliance forces were able to defeat Ladislava, capture Ferdinand, besiege the bridge, and hang the banner of House Riegan from its tallest parapet. And now, after the sounds of clashing steel had faded and the cries of the injured and grieving filled the air instead, Byleth finally felt the tension bleed from his shoulders, and turned to re-tune into whatever Claude was currently announcing to his peers gathered before him.

“For those of you who live in Alliance territories, I ask that you return to your houses, and spread the word about the current situation.” As the final casualty of the day, the sun bathed Claude in its dying light as he gave his directives to the people gathered before him. Byleth ran an appraising eye over them once more, if only to soothe his own worries. His students (ex-students, really) listened attentively to Claude, standing tall and proud of their hard-earned victory despite their varied states of injury and weariness. Covered in dirt and dust and blood from head to toe, most of them painted pitiful pictures of youth lost to war, but stood their ground nonetheless.

“We have no objections, either,” Seteth agreed to Claude’s orders, glancing briefly at Byleth for confirmation. Byleth nodded, imperceptibly so, and Seteth nodded back. “Go forth and secure us a sufficiently powerful army.”

It would take at least a month to conduct negotiations with the lords of the Alliance, which would give all of them ample time to recover from their conquest of the bridge. Byleth would never truly get tired of fighting- after all, Jeralt raised him with a bottle in one hand and a sword in the other- but he still needed the time off to rest and recover, just like anyone else.

And, by the looks of the haggard faces gathered around him, he could tell that everyone thought the same.

Claude was now addressing his peers individually, trying to figure out what their plans were for the month. The students hailing from the Alliance all spoke amongst them, trying to coordinate their returns home- or not-, which left one group conspicuously segregated, and silent amongst them. Byleth turned towards them, choosing to worry about them in light of recent events.

As he walked a few steps towards them, the exhausted faces of the Blue Lion students amongst them unanimously turned to meet him, something expectant in their gaze as he stopped to assess them as a whole.

“Oh, Professor,” Sylvain greeted him first, his trademark smile not quite reaching his eyes. He winced slightly when Ingrid tied a tight knot on the bloody bandage she was winding around his right forearm. “Did you need something?”

“Merely checking up on you,” Byleth answered, his eyes falling upon Ashe, who was leaning heavily on Annette. Ashe gave him a strained smile, tensing his jaw in visible pain when Annette’s hand hovered over his chest, lighting up white with a simple healing spell. She murmured a soft apology to him, an empty one, as she continued to mend what Byleth understood to have been blunt trauma to his lower ribcage.

“We’re fine,” Felix snapped, the near-frantic darting of his eyes between Sylvain and Ingrid betraying the depth of his actually concern for his friends. His hands and fingers twitched periodically in wide, jerky movements indicative of thunder magic exhaustion. His fingernails were raw and bloody from handling both weapons and magic at once. Nearby, Mercedes was whispering instructions to one of the assistant healers, whom she would doubtlessly join in the medical tent once this meeting was over. The frayed edges of her bloodied dress swept the dusty floor back and forth when she swayed on her feet, regaining her precarious balance with some effort each time.

Byleth’s unbeating heart lurched as he took their condition in, knowing that on top of their physical injuries, they also carried a unique mental weight around with them- that of having no king nor country to return to.

“The Alliance students will largely be returning home for the month to carry their duties out,” Byleth continued flatly, despite his worry for their wellbeing. “As for yourselves, I imagine you will return to Garreg Mach in the meantime.”

“I’ll stay a little while longer, if that’s alright with you, Professor,” Mercedes hummed, coming closer to join the conversation at last. “I’d like to help the injured from this battle as much as I can. Plus, if it’s all the same to you, I think I’d like to watch over Ferdinand’s recovery.”

“Right.” Despite being alive, Ferdinand was in critical condition, and Byleth had overheard the preliminary report that it was unlikely that he’d live past the next few nights. If he did, he’d be an invaluable source of information, and potentially a political prisoner to the Alliance. More than anything, Byleth would be reassured that he’d managed to save another of his former students from a war they never should have had to wage. Right now, though, with the von Aegir heir on the verge of death, it would be impossible to tell if Byleth would succeed or not in protecting him.

His mind’s eye conjured the image of Ferdinand’s sheet-white expression, unconscious and face down in a puddle of dirty water, oil, and blood when the healers got to him after Lorenz speared him right through the abdomen. Lorenz had looked deeply upset to have had to strike one of his greatest friends down, but to his credit, had let the healers do their work by returning to the battlefield. Byleth tried not to remember the heartbreak on his face as he turned his back on his dying friend.

“I don’t think it really matters where we go from here,” Sylvain interrupted Byleth’s morose train of thought by shrugging lightly. His bloody nose and split lip didn’t do much to secure him an air of confidence as he spoke, despite him acting like their impromptu leader since they reunited with Byleth and the Alliance a few months ago. “We’ve got no home to return to anyway. May as well stay here and help, right?”

“Sylvain…” Ingrid murmured, her expression absolutely crestfallen. She knew it was the truth- they all did- but it still hurt to hear it said out loud.

“We’ll go wherever the next fight takes us,” Felix grunted, interrupting whatever Ingrid would have wanted to say, if anything at all. “In the meantime, if we have to go back to Garreg Mach, then so be it.”

“I’ll arrange it with Claude, then,” Byleth nodded. “We’ll have to stay here until the situation’s calmed down, at least for a few more days, but then I’ll arrange for you all to return with the first convoy back to the monastery.”

“Sounds great, Professor,” Annette nodded, giving him a warm, genuine smile, thanking him even though he felt that he had done nothing worthy of their gratitude.

The Blue Lions looked up to him so much, and yet, he could do nothing in return for them. They would follow him across the continent, into the dark, and yet, he could not even guarantee them that they’d one day return home.

Hopefully, this was would be over soon, if only so that they could stop suffering so needlessly.

“Alright, go on ahead and get yourselves healed and rested,” he finally dismissed them with a sigh. “I’ll see you all tomorrow.”

The students’ voices intermingled as they headed off for the evening, and Byleth made sure that none of them was heading off on their own before turning back to Claude.

Claude, too, was finishing up his discussions with the Golden Deer students, waving Hilda off to rest with a teasing lilt to his voice, one that Hilda rolled her eyes at. Byleth waited for Claude to send her off before approaching him. He turned immediately to greet Byleth again, a weary but genuine grin on his face.

“Well, that’s that.” His smile faded into something a little sadder as he glanced past Byleth. “Thank you for talking to them. I don’t think they would listen to me as much as they listen to you.”

“They’re fighting for your ideals, too, Claude,” Byleth corrected him, although Claude didn’t seem convinced.

“No, they’re fighting for whatever these days is closest to what Dimitri’s ideals were.” At the sound of the deceased prince’s name, the air turned a little heavier. “I think… I think they’re fighting for you, more than anything else.”

Byleth couldn’t think of anything to say to that. Claude took his silence as acknowledgment.

“Anyway,” he rerouted the topic. “I’m going to stay here a few more days, just to be sure that Judith is settling in as head of command and that there are no straggling forces out to blindside us. After that, I’ll be heading back to Derdriu for the roundtable conference with the Alliance lords. I’d like you to come with me, Teach. To help negotiate with the lords.”

“Wouldn’t it be better if I stayed here, or led the army back to Garreg Mach in your absence?” Byleth questioned with a small frown. He wasn’t as much a negotiator as he was a fighter, by far.

“The lords are followers of the Church of Seiros.” Claude explained, seeming sure of himself. “It’ll make things easier if we have someone there to speak on Rhea’s behalf.”

“Understood.” As sound an observation as any. Byleth saw no reason to refuse, so he nodded. “What will you do now?”

“The tally of the dead will be completed by tomorrow morning, so until then, I can’t reorganize our troops. For now, I’ll work on securing the Bridge. We’ll need to send scouts to watch the perimeter from atop Gronder Field, as well as have some men search the Bridge from top to bottom to make sure it’s safe for occupation.” His eyes went up to the nearest tower, now flying the golden Riegan flag in the light of the bloody sunset. “I’ll take a look at our supplies, too, and start splitting up the convoy between the troops headed to the monastery, and those staying here. I might have time to start working on my speech to the lords, as well.”

“Claude,” Byleth interrupted him before he created even more work for himself. “We secured the Great Bridge of Myrddin today. I believe that this has been enough work for one day. You should rest; whatever can be done tomorrow can still be done tomorrow.”

“Right…” Claude sounded pensive as he scrutinized Byleth, before giving him a small smile. Caressed by the sunset, he looked much younger, much more tired, so much more vulnerable. A kid, like everybody else fighting and dying in Edelgard’s senseless war. “We’ve still got tomorrow.”

He sighed, and ran a hand through his sweat-matted locks.

“Alright, Teach, you win. I admit, I’m pretty tired right now, anyway. I’ll do whatever needs to be done right away, and then get some rest. You should do the same.”

“Of course.” It was Byleth’s turn to etch a small smile, amused by Claude’s offhanded show of concern. “You did excellent work today, Claude. Every day, we get one step closer to realizing the Fódlan you dream of.”

“Yeah.” Glancing out southwards, towards the vast, foggy plains of Gronder Field stretching across the river, Claude breathed deeply, and exhaled long. “We’re almost there.”

With that, Byleth judged the conversation over, and left Claude to thoughts. Despite the solemn air still surrounding him like a miasma, Byleth judged that he’d be alright with some time to shed his burdens in the comfort of his own privacy, and trusted Claude to rely on him when the time inevitably came to pick them back up again. 

Heavy weighs the crown on those who are born to lead.

…-…-…-…

Byleth retired to his temporary quarters when the moon rose to its fullest in the night sky. After having made sure that his students were settled, and had all gotten both medical attention and some food and drink, he cleaned up in the frigid waters of the Airmid River and scrubbed the bloodstains out of his long black tunic, at the very least, so he could re-wear it the next day. His white overcoat and cape would need special attention from the maids at the monastery, unsalvageable in its current state by his amateur hands. Mercedes could probably have helped, but she was much too busy in the medical tent to be bothered with something so trivial now.

Dressed in a simple spare tunic and pants, he headed towards the interior of the bridge’s fortress to escape the chill of the waterfront. Myrddin, comparable in size to well-known fortresses such as Merceus and Arianrhod, was a simple but efficient construction. For all its twisting and winding corridors, it was mainly just comprised of barracks for the soldiers who were stationed at the Bridge. This made it ideal to house the occupying army, many soldiers able to find a space to undo their bedrolls in the sleeping quarters, common rooms, and even corridors of the fortress. Because of his high standing within the army’s chain of command, Byleth was assigned a private room, a small, simple, but cozy closed room with a single cot in it. It was more than enough for him; exhausted from the day’s events, he barely had time to spare everyone else a thought before he was asleep.

He must not have slept a long time, for when he woke up, he still felt exhausted. From the tiny aeration opening in the wall, he could see that the night was as dark as ever. His hand closed upon the hilt of the Sword of the Creator, ever-resting at his side, and he wondered if he’d woken up because of a bad feeling.

A series of knocks sounded at his door, answering his question.

“Commander!” a man’s muffled voice rang out from behind the heavy wood. “Are you awake?”

“Enter,” Byleth called out, swinging himself out of bed with a groan as his weary muscles strained. He began a brief series of stretches, during which the soldier who woke him entered his room.

“Oh, Commander,” he snapped to attention, standing rod-like even though Byleth was still in his night clothes, slumped over his own lap tiredly. “I have an urgent report.”

“Has something happened?” That got Byleth’s attention, and he glanced up at the soldier as he began to lace up his boots. “Have Imperial forces been spotted?”

“Nothing like that, Commander.” The man seemed to hesitate, his form falling a little as insecurity crossed his features. “The men assigned to sweep the fortress of the Great Bridge have found something of dire importance. You must see it as well.”

“What is it?” Byleth asked, getting up and tightening his sword belt at his waist. “Does it pose a threat to us?”

“I… I don’t know.” To be fair, the man genuinely seemed lost. “I think it’s best if you see it for yourself. I… wouldn’t even know how to describe it to you.”

“Then take me there,” Byleth ordered, no longer wasting a second with the fear of this new threat hovering above them so shortly after their victory.

The soldier took the lead, taking Byleth unhesitatingly through the twisting corridors of the fortress. They weaved urgently around soldiers sleeping on the ground, not addressing anyone who called out in question to them, descending sets of stairs rapidly with the clicking of their heels on stone keeping time. The Sword of the Creator rubbed against Byleth’s hip, the sheathed knives on his belt digging their tips into his waist and legs through the thin material of his tunic and pants with every stride. Despite the urgency, however, Byleth did not panic. He could not bring himself to be alarmed until he assessed the threat with his own eyes.

The soldier led Byleth downward, so far down that Byleth noted the lack of windows on the walls, and water trails occasionally running through cracks in the stone. It indicated that they were down below the ground, possibly just near the riverside. The air was much colder and damper down here, a chill running down Byleth’s spine as they ducked into the darkness in between two wall-mounted torches. It smelled heavily of humidity and mould, and it was very likely that this part of the fortress was not used frequently at all. Byleth had an idea what it could have been used for on occasion.

But now… now he could think of no reason why the soldier was leading him towards what seemed to be the dungeons of the Great Bridge of Myrddin. He wondered if he should dread the encounter he was being led to have.

Finally, at the end of the poorly-lit corridor, Byleth noted a couple more people standing around, glancing in their direction.

“Commander,” one of them greeted Byleth curtly, raising his handheld torch to illuminate them all better. “There’s a man held captive in one of the cells here. We… We weren’t able to get close enough to be sure of it, but…”

“Please go ahead and see for yourself,” the other soldier completed the other’s sentence, his voice tight and nervous. “We’re not sure, but…”

He seemed unwilling to finish his sentence, like everybody else, and with that, the first nail of anxiety was hammered into Byleth’s thoughts. He couldn’t fathom why everyone around him looked so nervous, and refused to tell him what they’d seen in that cell. With no other choice but to find out, Byleth motioned to the one with the torch.

“You. Come with me. The others can wait here. I will call if I require assistance.”

“Yes, Commander,” the remaining soldiers saluted, and Byleth nodded to the man carrying the torch to go first.

The soldier walked him around the corner of the hallway, and Byleth immediately noted how the new stretch of cobblestone floor and walls was not illuminated at all. A heavy silence permeated the air, only the distant sound of rushing waters floating into his ears occasionally. Only the soldier’s and Byleth’s mismatched steps on the stone rang out to punctuate the silence. The smell of humidity got even greater as they went deeper, now carrying upon it the stench of a human body. It did not revolt Byleth as much as it concerned him. Whoever had been imprisoned down here had clearly been captive for some time.

They passed by empty cells to their left and right, empty if only for the fact that Byleth did not glance into them. He did not want to know if anyone was in those cells- the silence spoke volumes about what they’d look like if they were. The soldier, anyway, seemed to ignore all the cells completely, and led Byleth to the very end of the corridor.

There, he stopped at the last cell to the right, and extended the torch until his hand touched the bars. In the light, Byleth noted that it shook. The stench and heaviness of humidity was heaviest in this place. Byleth’s final footstep reverberated against the low ceiling, splashing when he stepped into a pool of-something, and spun to face the bars.

In the light, a shape crumpled against the back wall, swathed in cloth and furs, came into view.

And it took only one glance for Byleth to know.

Despite the lack of distinguishing features on the man collapsed against the wet floor, he knew.

Despite the swim of his vision, and the ringing in his ears, he knew.

Despite the stillness of his heart, he knew.

He knew, he knew, and in that moment, he believed.

“Get Claude,” he ordered in a low tone, not taking his eyes off of the prisoner. In the obscurity, it was difficult to tell if he breathed, and Byleth felt a different chill taking hold of his limbs when the thought of them coming across a dead man crossed his mind.

“Someone was sent to fetch him at the same time as you,” the soldier answered, feeding off of Byleth’s snappy anxiety, and swallowing heavily. “Duke Riegan should arrive at any moment.”

“Good.” Approaching until he was standing right at the bars, Byleth felt his throat close up. “Where are the keys?”

“None have been found, Commander. They may have been in the possession of one of the generals we fought.”

“Get this cell open some other way, then,” Byleth snapped, putting his hands on the rusted bars. The chill of them shook him to the core. “I need to get inside. I need to…”

His voice caught in his throat as his eyes ran back and forth across the man on the floor. If he squinted, he could see blond hair underneath the furs draped over him.

This time, his heart gave an actual lurch, one that nearly brought his dinner back up in his throat.

“Dimitri,” he finally called, his throat hurting as he struggled to call his name after so long. “It’s Dimitri.”

With the confirmation of the commander that the captive before them was the lost Prince of Faerghus, the soldier lost no time in following his orders. He secured the torch haphazardly on one of the shackles on the wall, and got busy trying to open the heavy iron lock keeping the door shut.

“Dimitri,” Byleth called again, not knowing what else to do. His hands tightened over and over again on the bars as if wanting to twist them right open, tear the metal apart like cracking open a ribcage and disembowel the cell of its contents. He could hear his pulse rushing in his ears, mouth dry and nauseous as he watched the unmoving lump on the ground. “Dimitri, wake up. Dimitri.”

And though the prisoner did not lift his head, finally, finally, to the tense call of his name, he shifted. Chains that Byleth could not see clinked loudly even at the smallest movement.

Byleth thought of a million fervent prayers to Sothis for letting him have this one miracle to himself.

“Faster,” he ordered tightly, his eyes never leaving Dimitri, scrutinizing every shift of his body beneath the damp furs weighing him down. He seemed to be moving a little more, awake, if nothing else, but Byleth had a sinking gut feeling that being awake was as good as it got for him.

He didn’t even want to imagine the state he was in. Nothing, even from this far away, indicated that Dimitri was even remotely alright.

“Get this door open faster,” he repeated, shaking the bars for good measure. “Dimitri!”

“I’m trying, Commander,” the soldier fumbled with the lock, the metal clicking as he likely tried to pick it. Byleth didn’t care. He’d been 5 years and too many months away from the man now lying so close at his feet.

He couldn’t take a single second more of being apart.

“So.” In the silence that preceded Byleth’s next call of Dimitri’s name, a new voice joined the conversation. Byleth whipped around, squinting to see through the obscurity.

Surely enough, accompanied by another guard with a torch, Claude stepped into view, exchanging a grim look with Byleth.

“He’s been returned to us,” Claude simply stated, getting all the information he needed from Byleth’s frozen expression.

Byleth tried to answer, but all that came out of his strangled throat was an anguished whine.

“Leave me and Teach to handle this,” Claude addressed the soldiers, immediately taking the reigns in the face of Byleth’s despair. “You.” He turned to the man who’d escorted him. “Run and fetch me a healer named Mercedes von Martritz. You’ll likely find her in the medical tent. Do so swiftly, and with the utmost secrecy.” He then turned to the soldier who’d abandoned his work on the lock. “And both of you… be sure not to tell anyone of what you saw here. This is… an extremely delicate and unexpected situation. We cannot have rumours emerging before we’ve ascertained the situation for ourselves.”

“Yes Sir,” the two soldiers clamoured, sharing a look before retreating. Claude didn’t turn to watch them go. Instead, as their jogging footsteps faded away, he turned his eyes to the cell. Byleth followed his line of sight.

Dimitri had managed to move, to Byleth’s immense relief, and was now no longer lying on the ground, having managed to sit against the wall behind him. He could see the outline of heavy chains laying on the stone, clipped around Dimitri’s ankles most likely. His head was bowed, covering his face with long strands of straw-like hair, and he clutched the cloak and furs around his shoulders like a lifeline.

“Claude,” Byleth choked out, overwhelmed and barely able to compute the miserable sight before him.

“I know, Teach,” Claude cut him off, bending to take a look at the lock on the cell. “Don’t worry. We’ve got him now.”

“What have they done to him…?” Byleth murmured, unable to raise his voice past the horror of the sight before him. “Why would Edelgard…”

“Something tells me that she wasn’t aware of this- of him being held captive here like this.” Carefully jiggling the lock with lockpicking tools improvised from his clothes, Claude pursed his lips pensively. “In fact, I think our best bet is to ask Ferdinand what happened here, if he ever wakes up. Neither he nor Edelgard strike me as the type to treat any prisoner, let alone Dimitri, like this. Like, well…” He trailed off uncomfortably, glancing at Byleth with his sentence left unsaid.

“… an animal,” Byleth completed for him, his heart clenching tightly as he watched the subtle rise and fall of Dimitri’s shoulders. He had not lifted his head, still curled up in his furry cocoon of relative safety. Byleth’s knees felt weak. “Worse than an animal.”

“Yeah.” Claude, too, sounded overwhelmed, but managed not to show it too badly on his face. When Byleth glanced at his expression, though, he noted how the torchlight carved deep shadows under his eyes and beneath his cheekbones. He had not even changed out of his war uniform, telltale of the fact that he had not listened to Byleth’s previous advice, and had stayed up to work into the night anyway.

This war had taken too many young lives already, and didn’t seem intent on stopping just yet. Byleth wished he could just turn back time, as far as he needed, to try to understand Edelgard, to lift the burdens off of Claude’s shoulders, to pull Dimitri out of every cell that he’d been confined to- by others, or by himself.

It was on that note that the sound of a lock clicking into place rang out, and Byleth’s eyes rushed to the door, his pulse accelerating when he saw that the lock was now open, sitting heavily in Claude’s palms. Claude carefully removed it from the door, and threw it to the ground. It made a heavy thunk upon impact, the loud sound reverberating like thunderclap in the dark, narrow corridor. Dimitri’s shoulders visibly tensed at the sound of it, chains rattling as he drew the cloak tighter over him, hiding his face underneath it, and seemingly wanting it to swallow him.

Byleth made a move to rush right to him, to pull him out and bring him back into the light, but Claude’s raised hand stopped him.

“Wait,” the Alliance leader halted him grimly, also looking at Dimitri’s pitiful form. “Teach… just be careful. He may not be… no, he definitely will not be the Dimitri we once knew. Just… don’t let your guard down.”

“Dimitri would never hurt us,” Byleth frowned, protectiveness welling up within him.

“Dimitri wouldn’t,” Claude agreed, and gave Byleth a tight, sad smile, as if delivering a terrible truth to him. “But the man in this cell… May not be Dimitri at all.”

Byleth said nothing at that, and clenched his fists. He spread his feet minutely in what looked like a fighting stance, and alongside the severe, neutral expression on his face, he really looked like he was moments away from fighting something.

Claude let out a snort at that, dispelling some of the tension around them, and finally stepped away from the door to give way to Byleth.

“Alright, Teach. You know what you’re doing.” His face softened, and he grabbed the rusted metal handle with both hands. “Go get him.”

Byleth nodded, and swallowed heavily as Claude put all his weight on the door, and finally managed to pry the cell open. The heavy bars swung open with a violent screech of unoiled metal, speaking volumes about the extended state of disuse of the facilities. The noise was nearly deafening, reverberating in Byleth’s head even when the door stopped moving. When Byleth moved to enter the cell, his heels clicked loudly on the stone, and that, too, sounded deafening in the vacuum of silence that had been left.

As soon as he crossed the threshold, he felt the difference in atmosphere, and involuntarily shivered. In the small alcove, the walls closed upon Byleth, making him immediately feel a sense of claustrophobia. The low ceiling and water-stained stone swallowed him up, the smell of combined humidity and human stench intermingling with something that could best be described as wet dog to make every breath a heavily unpleasant endeavor. It almost felt like the cold seeped substantially more into the cell, making the air so frigid that Byleth felt the chill through the soles of his boots, his toes curling to conserve warmth.

As for the man in front of him, Byleth did not realize until Claude entered the cell behind him, carrying the torch and illuminating the sight a little better, that Dimitri was looking at him.

It seemed a little generous to put it that way, in reality, but Byleth did note that the cloak draped so tightly over Dimitri previously had now been opened just a slit, possibly to let the man observe them. Byleth couldn’t see his face just yet, but didn’t push him.

And then, he realized that Dimitri was making noise, and froze.

It was a low rumbling, intermittent and barely audible, if not for the haunting silence permeating the interior of the cell. Byleth blinked, once, twice, and suddenly, with nausea rising in his throat, realized that Dimitri was growling.

Full on, voice deeply guttural and heavy, Dimitri was growling- at them.

“Dimitri,” Byleth managed to stutter out, a huge stone dropping to the pits of his stomach. He’d never in his life lost his composure the way he did now, overwhelmed not only by his budding emotional abilities but also the horror of seeing someone so dear so broken in front of him. Yearning to touch Dimitri and gather him up to keep all of his precarious pieces together, he reached his hand out towards him.

And Dimitri snapped.

Everything moved too fast. Before Byleth realized what had happened, in a flurry of clinking chains and rustling clothes, Dimitri threw the cloak off of his shoulders, and with a feral roar not unlike that of a cornered, dying animal, he lunged at Byleth’s outstretched hand.

Frozen deathly still by the terrifying display of primal behavior, Byleth was unable to react, watching powerlessly as Dimitri came for him, only to be stopped violently in his tracks by the tug of chains on every single one of his limbs. The roar of desperation that had warned of his attack was cut off as suddenly as it emerged, Dimitri letting out a strangled cry of surprise and then choking desperately as he was halted in his tracks by the collar around his throat, the chain taut and straining against the wall behind him.

Byleth also choked at the sight before him, petrified and unable to breathe as Dimitri’s hands, restrained and suspended in the air by chains, closed desperately on the empty air only a foot away from him. Despite being so tightly restrained, he kept straining against the shackles around his wrists and neck, taut chains clinking with every single one of his twitches and bids to get at the person coming to harm him.

But Byleth did not want to harm him, not in a million lifetimes. The horrifying picture that Dimitri painted, snarling and choking, on his knees and collared like a misbehaving animal, made him want to cry, the same disbelieving grief that he’d felt at losing his father so long ago rising inside of him once more, clawing its way up his throat and rendering him voiceless.

Behind them, Claude swore softly, sharing in Byleth’s disbelief and sounding stricken enough for both of them.

“Gods above,” he murmured, his voice strained as if, just this once, even he did not have words to describe what he was seeing. “What have they done to you, Dimitri…?”

Byleth kept his eyes riveted on Dimitri, searching for eye contact, for one last opportunity to ascertain whatever was left of Dimitri’s humanity, but the man had his expression hidden under curtains of wet, matted blond hair. In the darkness, it was too difficult to see past them.

Seemingly reading his mind, Claude took a long step forward, enough to cross half the distance in the cell and stand behind Byleth with the torch to illuminate Dimitri a little better. The shadow cast by his body rose up to the ceiling, the myriad of bloodstains on his dirty hair and dirty clothes coming into view. His fingertips were raw and bleeding, his lean, sinewy limbs straining against his ripped clothing, his pale, thin skin visible through the tears and unpatched holes in his clothes. Everything that Byleth saw in the torchlight pointed to the fact that Dimitri had been kept captive for an extended amount of time already, and his stomach turned at the thought.

As the light approached, however, Dimitri ducked his head, letting out a small grunt of pain as the fire scorched his obscurity-conditioned retinas. The tension in his muscles fell as he tried to regain his vision instead of taking the offensive. Byleth chose this moment to shuffle forward, just a little, just enough to touch Dimitri without risking him biting his hand off.

However, at the slightest sound of his boot dragging on the stone, Dimitri threw himself back, as far away from Byleth as his restraints would allow him. The chains clinked loudly once again as his back harshly hit the wall, another whimper escaping his abused body when breath was robbed of him. Still, as he raised both of his arms high up in front of him, protecting himself from something only he could see, Byleth realized that he was cowering like cornered prey.

“Dimitri,” he called out softly, his lifeless heart nonetheless bleeding for the young man who had been abandoned by the entire world for far too long. “Dimitri, it’s alright. Nobody will hurt you anymore. It’s just me and Claude.”

Dimitri didn’t respond, but in the light, Byleth noted that he was watching him carefully. From the crack in between his trembling, raised arms, he could only see one of Dimitri’s wide, terrified blue eyes tracking his every move. He was squinting, as if still getting used to the light, and Byleth realized that Dimitri probably couldn’t see him, nor his actions very well just yet. Of course he’d cower away from him if he couldn’t perceive him as a friend.

So, slowly, carefully, Byleth began to crouch. Predictably, Dimitri pulled back a little more, his knees drawn tightly to his chest to protect his most vital parts, and his arms still raised to intercept anything coming for his head. His breathing sounded heavy and rattling, as if his lungs were full of the same water trickling down from the ceiling to collect in uneven pools between the cobblestone, and his chest heaved with every breath. In the light, it was easier to see the puffs of vapor escaping his lips, into the cold air. The collar must not have been doing him any favours, and Byleth itched to rip it right off of him. Still, something told him that any sudden movement would be unwelcome in Dimitri’s current state.

Thankfully, Dimitri did not lunge for him again throughout the process, and Byleth managed to kneel on the cold stone in front of Dimitri without incident.

“Dimitri,” he called softly once more, making sure that the young man was watching him. Deliberately slowly, he raised one of his hands, and put it up in Dimitri’s line of sight. “It’s me. It’s just me. I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to help you.”

A tiny, barely audible whine came from the depths of Dimitri’s chest, and Byleth wasn’t even sure if he had heard correctly. Still, Dimitri was not trying to stop him, so he took that as a promising sign, and advanced his hand a little more.

“Dimitri, it’s okay,” he promised, still making eye contact with the boy cowering away from him. He wanted to think that Dimitri no longer looked as terrified, just exhausted. “Everything will be alright from now on. I have you. I have you, Dimitri.”

Dimitri let out another whine, almost pained, as Byleth’s fingertips brushed his raised arm, goosebumps immediately erupting on Byleth’s skin when the chill of Dimitri’s body registered. He felt so cold, almost as cold as the floor itself, and it suddenly dawned on Byleth that they had forced Dimitri out of the only safety he knew in this cell; warmth.

“Dimitri,” Byleth called again, always watching him for recognition of his own name, hoping that saying it enough would successfully bring back the suffering boy hidden behind the animal crouched before him. Gently, he began to push on Dimitri’s hands, leading them away from his face, and to his mild surprise, Dimitri let him.

The face that came into view felt entirely foreign to Byleth, even though it also felt painfully familiar. Dimitri’s visible eye, a striking blue glinting in the torchlight, was still wide and alert, although the sunken bags underneath, discoloured a heavy grey, made him look exhausted beyond his years. His cheekbones and jawline were sharp, too sharp, telltale of long-standing starvation, and his cracked, split lips betrayed how dehydrated he was as well. Byleth gently cradled his jaw, now feeling how hot his face felt to touch, and the thin sheen of sweat pearling on his forehead spoke of something more insidious underneath it all. Dried blood matted his hair in clumps, congealing in his eyebrows and staining his nose, cheeks and lips, old, yellow bruises peppering his entire face giving his skin an unhealthy, sickly glow.

Ignoring the pangs of his heart, Byleth reached out with his second hand, just as slowly, and slipped his fingers into Dimitri’s greasy, tangled hair. Then, as gently as he could, he swept the rough strands away from the right side of his face to finally see him fully.

However, instead of making eye contact with him at last, Byleth saw nothing.

In the space where Dimitri’s right eye should’ve been, there was nothing left but a gaping black hole. The stitching string previously keeping the eyelids closed had popped in certain places, leaving the cavity of Dimitri’s eye socket open to drain what Byleth realized with rising horror was a mixture of blood and pus. A small, but violently red scar ran diagonally over Dimitri’s eye, jagged, but precise; a deliberate cut. It made Byleth want to throw up right at Dimitri’s feet.

“Goddess, Dimitri,” he murmured, his voice strangled as he stared, absolutely shell-shocked, at the butchery on Dimitri’s sallow face. “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry, I couldn’t…”

He trailed off, throat too dry to continue, and Dimitri finally seemed to have enough.

Not quite violently, but not quite gently either, he tore his head away from Byleth’s hands, and in a rattle of chains and clothes, buried his face against his knees, caging himself in with both of his arms curled over him; one protecting his head, and the other protecting his neck. The position seemed to be giving him trouble with his breathing, but Byleth didn’t force him to unravel. After all, he was in a vulnerable position in front of his perceived predators, and right now, Byleth just wanted him to find a semblance of safety, until they could get him out of here.

“Claude,” he called softly, turning just a little to see the Alliance’s leader standing just behind him, the torch he carried illuminating the grim, grave expression on his usually cheery face. “Hand me that cloak.”

“Here.” Nothing else was said as Claude picked up Dimitri’s discarded furs from the ground, passing them to Byleth. The stench of wet dog intensified, and when Byleth touched the dark blur cloak, he noted that it was damp. It must not have been doing much to keep Dimitri warm, although, probably, it was the only warmth Dimitri had known in a long time.

Reigning in his revolt, and promising himself to do better, Byleth draped the heavy cloak over Dimitri, covering his head, and holding it tightly closed in the front.

Once Dimitri was out of sight, hidden underneath the furs again, Byleth sighed, and turned to look up at Claude.

“I don’t know what to do,” he admitted weakly, swallowing the knot in his throat. “It’s… it’s worse than I ever thought it could be.”

“I know,” Claude nodded, taking in a deep, grounding breath, and exhaling heavily. “It’s… it’s a lot, Teach. What’s been done to him… it’s beyond inhumane.” He glanced at the unmoving pile of furs, his eyes dark with sadness. “I don’t blame him for acting the way he did.”

“He’s like an animal,” Byleth agreed, glancing between Dimitri and Claude, not knowing where to look and what to do. “He’s cornered and just trying to protect himself. I… I don’t know how to help him.”

“I think you already have, even if it’s only slight,” Claude gave Byleth a shaky smile that didn’t quite reassure either of them. “He’s not aggressive anymore. I think that means that he trusts you, at least a little.”

Byleth glanced back at Dimitri. Underneath the cloak, he had not moved to unravel himself into a more comfortable position. Despite being buried and cocooned, he still didn’t move.

“I don’t think this is trust, Claude,” he said, grief heavy on his features as he drew the cloak just a little tighter around Dimitri’s hunched form. His hands shook. “I think… it’s resignation.” He looked up to Claude, sharing an anguished look with him. “He’s given up.”

Claude didn’t say anything to correct him. Byleth wasn’t sure if he would have believed him, even if he did.

The three of them just stayed immobile, letting the darkness keep them company, each one fighting their own mental battle as they waited. The torch in Claude’s hand crackled and popped occasionally, filling the silence when Dimitri’s rattling breaths and tiny, subdued coughs didn’t.

They waited and waited, until finally, after seemingly an eternity of holding onto Dimitri’s trembling frame, footsteps began to come towards them from further away, down the hallway.

“That must be Mercedes,” Claude murmured, just to break the tense silence between them.

“I’m surprised you didn’t ask for Marianne instead,” Byleth mumbled, not taking his eyes away from Dimitri’s curled-up form.

“Marianne is a very talented healer, but…” Claude’s gaze roved over Dimitri’s pitiful state. “I think… I think Dimitri needs someone like Mercedes right now.”

Byleth nodded to agree, not sure what he was agreeing about. Further off, the footsteps hastened, and light came into view outside their cell.

The soldier from before returned, Mercedes following close by.

“I’ve brought the Lady von Martritz,” the soldier announced nervously, glancing between Claude and Dimitri.

“Oh dear… what’s happened here?” Mercedes asked, immediately stepping into the cell. Claude halted her in her tracks with a raise of his hand.

“Wait.” Turning to the soldier, he nodded to him. “Thank you. You may leave us. Please remember your oath to secrecy until we make this knowledge public.”

“Of course, Milord.” The soldier bowed, and left quickly, leaving Mercedes behind.

At that point, Claude turned to Mercedes with a grave expression.

“Mercedes, thank you for coming. There’s… a situation.” He drew her gaze to where Byleth was holding together a cloak-swaddled Dimitri. “I’m not sure how to explain it…”

“That’s Dimitri, isn’t it?” Mercedes said in his stead, wringing her hands on her skirt. She glanced up at Claude for confirmation.

“How…?”

“The blood of Lions flows within me. I’d be a fool not to know my King when I see him.” Her eyes turned sad nonetheless. “Oh… Dimitri…”

“Well, right… it’s him,” Claude nodded, running his free hand through his hair. “And… it’s bad.”

“I’ll do everything I can to help,” Mercedes promised, and Claude finally nodded to let her through.

She knelt next to Byleth, unafraid and unbothered by the questionable stains spreading into her skirt. She shared a look with Byleth, and the latter nodded in silent assent.

“Dimitri,” he called out, slowly unraveling the fur cloak. “Mercedes is here to take care of your wounds. I’m going to take the cloak off a little so she can see you.”

Underneath, Dimitri did not move, still curled up. To her credit, Mercedes seemed unshaken.

“Okay, Dimitri… It’s just me, it’s just Mercie,” she cooed, slowly putting a hand up to touch him. “I’m just going to put my hands on you to see what’s wrong, alright?”

Her hand barely brushed his knee before Dimitri suddenly snapped, kicking out at her with the leg she touched. The chain at his ankle prevented his leg from extending fully and therefore making full contact with the girl, but Mercedes still gave a sharp cry of surprise and fell back, thankfully unharmed apart from a bruised tailbone.

“Dimitri!” Byleth gasped, urgently putting a hand on his leg to try and keep him steady. To his surprise, Dimitri did not react to his touch as he’d reacted to Mercedes’, and Claude’s earlier words floated to the forefront of his mind. He shooed them away, having more important things to worry about. “It’s just Mercedes. She’s just trying to help you. Don’t hurt her.”

“I apologize for startling you, Dimitri,” Mercedes spoke up, ever-patient and understanding. The pity in her eyes as she glanced upon Dimitri’s hunched figure showed that she took everything well with stride. “I’ll not be so abrupt next time. Would you rather I don’t touch you?”

Predictably, Dimitri did not answer, but his chains rattled as he dropped his limbs away from his body to instead openly inspect the people crouched in front of him. He seemed a little calmer, even if his chest still heaved with every breath. Byleth felt the muscles of his leg twitching beneath his thin slacks, possibly cramping from all this movement even though there was no trace of pain on Dimitri’s wary expression.

“Alright then, I won’t touch you,” Mercedes decided, putting both of her hands up in front of her where Dimitri could see them. “Here we go, Dimitri. It’ll feel a little warmer than usual, but I’m going to help you, okay?”

Dimitri did not react. Byleth watched as Mercedes’ hands lit up with the telltale green hue of a long-distance recovery spell, illuminating Dimitri’s bruised face and making him look even more waxen. Subconsciously, Byleth found himself rubbing circles in Dimitri’s knee, and stopped when he realized what he was doing. Dimitri didn’t seem to mind anymore, though. In fact, his eye, ringed darkly with exhaustion, was half-closed now, and he was only blearily watching Mercedes work with something akin to confusion in his expression. His muscles had relaxed underneath Byleth’s touch.

“He should be a little more pliant like this,” Mercedes said, never relenting on her spell. “I can’t treat him until I assess him properly, so the first thing we must do is get him out of here. A change in scenery might make him feel a little safer, and compliant in return.”

“I’ll undo his shackles,” Claude volunteered, having silently stood in the back so far. He put the torch on the floor, and Byleth was glad it didn’t immediately go out. Then, slowly approaching Dimitri on his good side, he, too, knelt.

“Dimitri, relax,” Byleth soothed him, reflexively running a hand up and down his thigh to calm him down. “It’s just Claude. He’s going to get you out of these chains.”

To that, Dimitri let out a strangled whine, shying away from Claude’s hands just a little before Mercedes’ spell overtook him again, leaving him near-boneless. Byleth noted how he was beginning to slump, and scooted a little closer, pulling Dimitri towards him so that instead of leaning forward, he leaned against Byleth’s chest. He only hesitated a little before burying one of his hands in Dimitri’s hair, scratching at his scalp soothingly.

Dimitri didn’t move through it all, but Byleth was glad to note that he let himself be manipulated without a fuss. His eye still darted warily between Mercedes and Claude, but he did not lash out at either of them anymore, likely much too exhausted to move. While Mercedes kept him under wraps, Claude immediately began picking the locks on the shackles, starting with the collar choking him.

The locks were much less complex than the one at the door, so Claude made short work of the collar, and moved onto Dimitri’s right wrist. Byleth pulled the metal collar away from Dimitri in the meantime, nausea returning with a vengeance when a ring of bruised and ulcerated skin was revealed underneath. Removing the metal tore off old scabs from small cuts, letting fresh blood pearl on his throat and roll down into the sunken dip of his collarbone. Dimitri must have struggled a lot against his collar for it to have gotten so bad. Somehow, Byleth didn’t doubt that he’d put up one hell of a fight for a long time before ending up like this.

Claude quickly removed the shackles at Dimitri’s wrists as well, and finally moved to his ankles. With his newfound freedom, all that Dimitri did was reach around him, and pull his cloak back around his shoulders tightly. He still trembled in Byleth’s arms, but at this point, Byleth suspected it was more out of being cold than being afraid.

(Or so he liked to think, considering that his hand was still combing through Dimitri’s dirty hair, uninterrupted for far.)

When Claude removed the last of the shackles, letting it fall away loudly as if to herald Dimitri’s freedom, the time came to move him. Still pliant thanks to Mercedes’ spell, it wasn’t hard to sit him straight up. Byleth wasn’t sure if he’d be able to bear his own weight, however.

“Dimitri,” he murmured, unwilling to break the shaky peace they’d established in this dark cell. “You have to stand up now and walk. We’ll help you, but you need to stand.”

Either Dimitri didn’t understand, or didn’t acknowledge what was being said to him, because he didn’t move an inch. His gaze, however, roamed a little before settling on Byleth, seemingly reading his expression for cues.

Byleth did his best to keep his usual, neutral expression, rather than let the overwhelming sadness show.

“I’ll help you move him, Teach,” Claude volunteered. “Maybe if we start pulling him up, he’ll catch on and stand on his own.”

“Alright.” Each of them moved to support under one of Dimitri’s arms. Dimitri glanced between the two of them blearily, unsure of their actions, and Byleth hoped he’d catch on. He had no idea why Dimitri was unresponsive to all attempts to communicate with him, but he hoped it wouldn’t last long after his rescue.

He just wanted to speak once more to the bright boy he’d grown to cherish over the many months at the Academy, and tell him that he would be safe now. He just needed Dimitri to believe him, just this once. He would never let harm befall Dimitri ever again after this.

“Alright, Dimitri. Stand up,” Byleth instructed, beginning to tug him up. Claude did the same, and thankfully, Dimitri seemed to understand quickly, starting to bear his own weight on his feet and rising to his full height. His entire body shook with the exertion of moving after such a long time chained to the floor, his joints cracking and his muscles straining to regain their previous use.

Byleth had not realized how much he’d grown, now towering nearly a whole head above him, his hair nearly brushing the ceiling of the small cell. It made his heart lurch, to know how much he’d missed out in his five years of slumber- not just for Dimitri, but for all of his students. Dimitri straightened out as much as possible, and tried putting a foot in front of the other, and that’s when his knee gave out.

Byleth felt his dead weight before even seeing him fall, and braced himself to support him. Eerily enough, Dimitri didn’t make a single noise as he fell, his wheezing breaths the only sound that came from him.

“Oh my,” Mercedes gasped as Byleth and Claude sat him back down, noting how his head lolled against his chest, on the brink of passing out. “He must not have moved in a long time. His blood pressure must have dropped rather quickly when he got up.”

“What should we do, then? Carry him out?” Claude asked, unsure. “He’s a little heavy, I think.”

“Not as heavy as he could be…” Byleth muttered, feeling the sinew of Dimitri’s bicep through his clothes. There was no doubt that despite his height, Dimitri was currently underweight. It would be surprising if he weren’t, considering his imprisonment, as well as his mysterious history over the past five years. Byleth still had so many questions, but first things first; they needed to get Dimitri out of this cell. He didn’t deserve to stay in here a second longer. “Let’s take turns carrying him back.”

“I’ll make sure he stays calm,” Mercedes nodded, light still dancing at her fingertips.

“At this hour, I don’t think many people are still awake. We should avoid the common areas, though,” Claude recommended. “Let’s take him to your room, Teach. Yours is more removed than mine is.”

“Alright.” Byleth had absolutely no objections to that, and knelt down so that Dimitri could be helped onto his back. “I’ll go first. Dimitri, put your arms around me. I’m going to carry you out of here and into somewhere safe. You’re going to be safe, alright?”

Dimitri predictably didn’t answer, but when Claude wound his arms around Byleth’s neck, he did hold on, and that had to count for something.

Byleth was just happy to feel his weight on him, heavy and alive and not at all okay- but he would be. He silently promised both of them that, and then got to his feet to carry Dimitri away.

…-…-…-…

With only a few close calls through the hallways, and pauses at the staircases to catch their breaths, Byleth and Claude were able to carry Dimitri all the way back up above ground, and into Byleth’s room. Mercedes followed diligently, carrying Dimitri’s thick cloak in one arm, and using the other to keep Dimitri sedated and compliant with a mix of recovery and sleep magic at will. The small party ended their journey when Claude gently set Dimitri down in Byleth’s cot, standing back to catch his breath. Mercedes was already hovering over Dimitri, gently running her fingers over his chest.

“Let me light the lanterns,” Byleth volunteered, already removing his sword belt and dropping it unceremoniously against the dresser next to the bed. “It’ll help your work.”

“Thank you,” Mercedes hummed, pulling out a dagger from the medical pouch at her hip and using it to rip open Dimitri’s shirt. Byleth wasn’t sure he wanted to see what other damage she would be uncovering underneath his clothes, but knew he couldn’t run from it, either. He just took his time lighting all the candles in the room, and brought the nearest lantern to the bedside to help Mercedes see what she was doing.

And so, in the lamplight, he saw the extent of the damage done to Dimitri. His breath caught once more as his gaze roved across his naked upper body, cataloguing every cut and bruise- some new, some fresh- and noting with growing horror that some of them looked deliberate. His arms were scraped raw, probably from crawling on the floor for so long, and Byleth had no doubt that his knees looked the same. His fingertips were raw and bleeding, some of his fingernails torn clean off. If the scratch marks around his throat were any indication, Dimitri had never given up trying to get the collar off. The ring of abrasions around his wrists marked a pattern where he’d strained against his shackles, his thumbs swollen from the tightness of the restraints.

Dimitri wasn’t fully conscious at this point, but glancing up, Byleth managed to make eye contact with him. Dimitri was watching him sleepily, looking like he was actively fighting whatever spell Mercedes had cast on him, and when Byleth moved, Dimitri followed him.

Sighing, Byleth elected, then, to kneel next to him, leaning against the cot to brush his hair away from his face.

The empty eye socket came into view, and Mercedes gave a strangled gasp at the sight of the swollen, inflamed skin and tears of blood dried on his cheek. Dimitri, however, didn’t pay her any mind. Instead, he let out a low huff, which could have been an unsuccessful attempt at something more expressive.

“You’re alright,” Byleth murmured softly to Dimitri, soothed by how he tracked his every move, eye going to his lips when he spoke. “You’re safe now, Dimitri. It hurts a lot, doesn’t it? It’s been hurting for a long time, I think.” Biting his lower lip to quell the guilt rising within him, Byleth wiped off some of the blood on Dimitri’s cheek with his thumb, leaving it pressed against his heated skin afterwards. “I’m sorry, Dimitri. I’m sorry, for not knowing. For not saving you sooner. For having let you go in the first place. I’m sorry.”

Dimitri only replied by leaning his face fully into Byleth’s palm, breathing deep and long, and then promptly, finally, passing out.

Byleth coached himself fervently not to cry as all of his emotions, muted as they were, began to overwhelm him.

“Teach.”

To pull him back from the brink of an actual meltdown, Claude set a hand on his shoulder, and squeezed.

“You okay?” he asked, exchanging glances with Byleth. “Can’t say I’ve seen you look this heartbroken since, well… your father.”

“He’s suffered so much,” Byleth explained shakily, caressing Dimitri’s cheek with his thumb once more. “The world thought him dead. We… We did, too. And all this time…” He took a deep, shaky breath, and dipped his head to escape Claude’s knowing eyes. “They broke him, Claude. They took away everything that made him human, treated him worse than a beast, left him for dead… And we never knew better.”

“You can’t blame yourself, Teach. If we’d known he was still alive, you know we’d have looked for him,” Claude hummed, turning his eyes to Dimitri’s pained expression, brows furrowed even in unconsciousness. Mercedes was now working on healing the worst of his injuries, sweat beading on her forehead as she moved her hands from one abrasion to the next.

“I wish I could start all over,” Byleth pressed his lips together tightly. When Mercedes finished healing his right wrist and set his hand down on the sheets, Byleth instinctively reached for it and tangled their fingers together. “I wish I could turn back time far enough to just… stop everything from happening. I want to save everyone. I want to save Dimitri.”

“Wouldn’t that be nice?” Claude laughed a little bitterly. “But we can’t undo what’s already been done. The best we can do is keep going. If you want to save Dimitri, you’ll have to start from here.”

Byleth didn’t correct him, because some things even Claude couldn’t know about. Besides, his words actually made Byleth feel a little better. It was true that all was not lost; and that even if the distant past would forever remain out of reach, he still had the present, and the future to work towards.

“Thank you, Claude. Truly. You’re an important ally, but most of all, a dear friend, and I am grateful for your help.”

“Nonsense,” Claude waved him off with a laugh, genuinely amused now. “You’re the one always guiding me, Teach. I depend on you, too. Of course I’ll help you, no matter what.”

“Thank you,” Byleth said again, and smiled softly, truly at Claude. The latter grinned in response and gave his shoulder one last squeeze before pulling away.

“Alright, Mercedes looks like she has this under control. I’m going to go, too, and I’ll check in with you again in the morning. Don’t overwork yourselves, both of you,” Claude instructed, as if saying it would change anything. Both Byleth and Mercedes knew they wouldn’t be leaving Dimitri’s bedside until he was assuredly fine.

“Don’t stay up too long, Claude. This has been overwhelming for you, too,” Byleth told him. “Rest for tonight. There is much to be done in the morning.”

“Very true. I promise I’ll rest,” Claude assured him, knowing that it made Byleth feel more secure, and made a move for the door. “Good night.”

Byleth simply nodded at him before he disappeared out of the door. Then, when it closed behind him again, he turned to Mercedes, who was now murmuring advanced spells under her breath, her hand pressed against Dimitri’s right eye socket. If the pus and blood leaking from it bothered her, she didn’t show it, firmly weaving her magic into the openings between the popped stitches in his eyelids.

Byleth merely watched her work, idly caressing Dimitri’s hand in the meantime.

Finally, Mercedes drew back, and let out a long sigh.

“I’m done for now, Professor,” she announced. “He’ll need traditional medicine on top of faith magic, so I will have to gather my supplies and return in the morning to complete treating him. That eye, especially, needs to be washed out, sewn back together, and he must take antibiotics. He’s got a very high fever, and I’m afraid that could mean that the infection has found its way into his bloodstream.”

“That sounds bad. Thank you for intervening,” Byleth nodded, trying not to feel too worried.

“Other than that, he might have an infection in his lungs as well. His cell had mould growing all over it, and alongside the cold, the immobility, and the collar, he likely didn’t have many opportunities to fight whatever infected his lungs. Once he gets antibiotics, his breathing should even out.”

“I see.” Glancing worriedly back at Dimitri’s face, Byleth noted the sweat beading at his forehead, and wiped it off without a second thought. “He has a lot of recovery ahead of him.”

“Yes. He’s severely malnourished and dehydrated right now, and it seems like this is a long-standing issue, not just from his captivity. It might have been several years since he last ate well.” She ran a hand on Dimitri’s bulging bicep to draw Byleth’s attention to it. “He’s only sinew and skin, commonly seen in people who exert themselves a lot, but don’t get enough nutrients nor hydration to build up fat stores around their muscles. Now, considering that he was immobile for a long time, too, we’ll have to keep an eye on his heart and his kidneys so that neither of them deteriorate from all the broken-down muscle tissue. There is at least a week of intensive care ahead of him.”

“Thank you, Mercedes,” Byleth repeated, truly grateful to her. “I know that Dimitri appreciates your help, too, even if he can’t show it right now.”

“No need to thank me, it’s my pleasure,” Mercedes gave Byleth a wobbly smile, and turned around, away from him. “I just… My heart hurts, knowing that I can’t do anything else to take away his pain. Dimitri was never an evil man, so I just don’t understand how… how someone could do this to him.”

“Mercedes…?” Frowning, Byleth got up, reluctantly letting go of Dimitri’s hand to approach Mercedes instead. “Are you alright?”

“It’s just…” Her breath caught, and Byleth watched her back as her shoulders hunched inward. “He’s our King, Professor. He was- is- our friend, and our King, and we’ve all mourned him already. To have gotten him back in such a state, it’s…” she let out a shaky laugh. “it’s a bit much.”

“Turn around, Mercedes,” Byleth asked of her, glad to see her comply and turn, revealing her red-rimmed eyes and downturned lips to him. His heartstrings pulled at seeing such a sorrowful expression on such a cheerful girl’s face. “Do not be ashamed. You saw something horrifying tonight. It’s alright to cry.”

“Professor…” Raising a delicate hand to her lips, she let out a sob, and the first tear ran down her cheek. “I cry for him. For all the injustice he’s had to live, and for all the suffering he’s been made to bear.”

“I know, Mercedes,” Byleth assured her, feeling his heart sink as well. When she took a step forward and buried her face against his shoulder to cry, he put his arms around her, and held on tightly.

“I want to take his pain away, and I know that I can’t,” she cried, her entire body trembling in Byleth’s arms. Byleth’s grip tightened on her and he let her sob, emptying her body of all the adrenaline and all the nightmares she’d lived in the last hour at best.

“Me, too,” he just murmured, turning his head to see Dimitri’s still body on the bed. “Me, too, Mercedes.”

Because they were just kids. Kids, forced to grow too quickly, forced to wage a war that was never theirs to wage, suffering, suffering, suffering, crying and grieving and having to learn all too quickly that their lives were never theirs to lead.

They were all just kids with no childhoods, and kids with no futures.

And no amount of time-turning would ever change that.

…-…-…-…

As Mercedes had expected, Dimitri was in a critical state for several days after, barely awake and aware of his surroundings as the fever blazed its way through his body. With combined faith magic and medication, Mercedes opted to keep him sedated, enlisting Marianne’s help to care for Dimitri. Any time Byleth visited, he would find them washing his face with cold cloths, changing his clothes, or painstakingly trying to feed him in his semi-conscious state. Dimitri looked entirely malleable under their careful hands, and it hurt Byleth to see him so lifeless and damaged.

Of course, the other Blue Lions visited, too. They were all made aware of the development the day after he was found, and despite the initial mixed reaction, they all near-religiously dropped by to see Dimitri every day. Some of them cried, and others helped Mercedes as much as they could, but the general consensus amongst the Blue Lions was that they needed to protect Dimitri with their lives now that he had been miraculously returned to them. Even Felix, whom Mercedes had surprised crying at Dimitri’s bedside, had fervently promised that he’d never let the Empire lay a single hand on his King ever again. 

In mixed elation and grief at Dimitri’s return, the days went by, time dragging slowly when all anyone could do was watch Dimitri breathe.

Almost four days after recapturing the Great Bridge of Myrddin, however, the healers announced that Ferdinand was in a state to receive visitors, and Byleth was the first in line to meet him. Of course, having been advised at the same time, Claude accompanied him, and the two of them met in front of the private room that had been allocated to Ferdinand as a political prisoner.

The guard posted at the door nodded to Byleth and Claude, and knocked for them. A faint, unintelligible call came from the interior of the room, and the guard pushed the door open without further ado.

When they entered, they immediately saw Ferdinand, sitting up in his bed, a heavily bandaged arm propped on a pillow, and in his other hand, a cup of tea. At his bedside, a book had been set down, pages dog-eared. Ferdinand himself seemed a little better than when he was lying on the verge of death on the battlefield, a fact that he seemed grateful for if the brightening of his eyes was any clue.

“Oh, Professor, Duke Riegan. How kind of you to visit,” he greeted them, setting his cup of tea down and folding his hands over each other. His low-cut white tunic was tied loosely at the waist by a sash, leaving enough of his chest open to view to see the heavy swaths of bandages rolled around his abdomen, all the way up to his ribcage. Byleth recalled with a heavy shudder the sight of him when he was struck down by Lorenz’ spear, and was glad that the man before him looked nothing alike.

“Glad to see you’ve recovered well, Duke von Aegir,” Claude nodded, diplomatic and politely distant as a captor should be. Byleth wanted to insist that they both drop the pretenses. He was tired of thinking about captors and captives, especially when it concerned his students.

“Thanks to your healers’ efforts, I have. I am grateful for your help.” Ferdinand’s smile tightened a little. “May I know what I owe the pleasure to? I’m sure you have much to arrange, now that you’ve successfully captured the Great Bridge.”

“We simply came by to make sure all your needs were addressed, and by that opportunity, also ask you a few questions,” Claude hummed just as pleasantly, although Byleth could detect the cold undertone to it.

“Of course,” Ferdinand nodded, looking resigned. “To the victors go the spoils, after all. Tell me what you require of me.”

“Enough, both of you,” Byleth interrupted, tired of their game of facades. To their credit, both Claude and Ferdinand seemed only slightly thrown off by his interruption. “Drop the pretenses. The battle is over, so can we speak as equals?”

“Well… I am your prisoner, Professor,” Ferdinand mused out loud, noting how Byleth stiffened at that. “It’s an unchangeable reality, one that I’ve come to accept the moment I woke up, and realized that I was still alive.”

“To be perfectly clear, I don’t intend to treat you as a prisoner of war,” Claude told him, glancing at Byleth for approval. “In fact, after you’re well enough to travel, I will let you go free. However, I very highly suggest you stay in Alliance territory when that happens. In fact, Lorenz was adamant in granting you asylum on Gloucester territory. He seemed rather upset by what transpired on the battlefield.”

“Tis the reality of war,” Ferdinand shrugged. “I will consider the kind offer. Perhaps Lorenz could even come and offer it to me himself at a later time.”

“I’m sure that can be arranged,” Claude nodded, then turned to Byleth. “Now, to business. Teach and I just had one question we wanted to clarify with you.”

Byleth nodded grimly, an unbidden image of Dimitri in that dark cell resurfacing in the forefront of his mind. He didn’t want to assume anything, especially not about Ferdinand’s integrity, but he had to ask.

“How long have you been stationed at the Great Bridge of Myrddin, Ferdinand?” he asked first, an easy question.

“About two weeks. When the march of Alliance soldiers towards the Empire was confirmed, I was sent to prepare the Great Bridge for attack, alongside General Ladislava,” Ferdinand answered simply. It made sense.

“Then…” Byleth felt the words escape him as he tried to formulate his question, haunted, instead, by flashes of Dimitri’s snarl, his collared throat, his missing fingernails, the terror in his eyes.

Claude seemed to sense his hesitation, and sighed, taking over.

“Ferdinand,” he addressed solemnly. “Did you know about Dimitri?”

And the way the comfortable smile slid off of Ferdinand’s face was enough of an answer.

“How could you do that to him…?” Byleth asked, trying so hard not to lose faith in Ferdinand, but also remembering how Dimitri cowered and whimpered when he was approached, as if expecting any and every hand to strike him as they came close.

“Professor, let me assure you that I had no hand in anything regarding Prince Dimitri’s captivity,” Ferdinand rushed to answer, seeming genuine in his regret, at the very least. “I was informed a few days after my arrival that the Prince of Faerghus had been captured and was awaiting a sentence within the fortress of Myrddin. I asked to see him, but I was never granted audience.” His eyes fell to the blanket covering his lower half, and he bunched some of it in his functional hand in apparent frustration. “I did not even know where they kept him. Nobody seemed to know, and those who did were not ready to impart that information to me.”

“What was done to him was inhumane, Ferdinand,” Byleth continued, watching as the light drained from Ferdinand’s eyes, finally making him look like the sickly, nearly-dead soldier he was. “Swear to me that you had no knowledge of this happening.”

“I swear it,” Ferdinand nodded fervently. “Professor, you must believe me. I never would’ve condoned any mistreatment, of anyone, enemy or otherwise. I was perhaps naïve, but I was so busy with preparation for the attack that I simply imagined that General Ladislava had him confined to a room, or something of the like. Had I known that he was being mistreated, it would have been my utmost priority to stop it.”

Byleth didn’t say anything, and Claude just watched him deal with his own thoughts. At the very least, Ferdinand’s desperation to be heard was genuine. And Ferdinand was never a great liar, much too boisterous and proud to resort to underhanded tactics.

“Please, Professor,” he begged once more. “Please, believe me. It would be greatly dishonourable for me, as a noble, to have condoned the mistreatment of a political prisoner, especially one as important as the Prince of Faerghus. All I know is that he was captured while attacking Imperial border patrols, and that General Ladislava intended to deliver him to Enbarr as soon as we halted the Alliance army’s advance. I never… I never would wish him harm, no matter the man he’s become.”

“I believe you,” Byleth conceded. “I just… wish I’d known.”

“I as well, Professor,” Ferdinand sighed. “I regret not pursuing the trails of information a little more fervently. For that, I apologize.”

He wasn’t sure if he wanted to accept Ferdinand’s apology or not, so he stayed quiet. Ferdinand took his silence as a cue to change the topic.

“And…” he seemed to hesitate a little, scrutinizing Byleth’s face for hints. “How is he now…?”

“Sick.” Byleth’s voice was clipped, and he saw Ferdinand recoil. He sighed, trying not to sound so harsh, but talking about Dimitri and being so far away from him was beginning to make him antsy. “He’s… very sick, and severely injured. He’s also…” He’d growled. Dimitri had growled at Byleth when he’d first approached him. “… not himself.”

“I see.” The grief in Ferdinand’s eyes was indubitably genuine. That, Byleth could appreciate. “I wish him a full and speedy recovery.” Pushing some of his long, wavy hair behind his ear, he glanced down at his bandaged hand, picking at his exposed nail beds with a sad smile, as if thinking of something in private. “After all, he fights, but this isn’t his war, either. He, too, is a victim. And… I think that in the spirit of kinship… I cannot wish him harm.”

“Thank you, Ferdinand,” Byleth said, nodding to the young man who’d already suffered so much, and who, in the daylight filtering from the window, looked as haggard and exhausted as everybody else. War did not discriminate its victims after all. All sides, all lives were fair game.

“Rest now,” Claude encouraged him. “I’ll send Lorenz at his first free moment to discuss the terms of asylum with you.”

“Thank you, Claude,” Ferdinand nodded, then turned to Byleth. “You, too, Professor.”

He wasn’t sure what he was being thanked for, for he didn’t feel like he deserved anybody’s apologies right now, but Byleth nodded anyway, if only to see the stress drip off Ferdinand’s expression. His students owed him nothing, Byleth figured as he left Ferdinand behind, but he did owe his students the world.

…-…-…-…

Dimitri was transported back to Garreg Mach on the fifth day after he was retrieved. Still maintained under sedation for his, and the staff’s safety, he was secretly stowed into a medical carriage, and the entirety of the Blue Lions escorted his comatose body back to the monastery under Byleth’s watchful guidance.

Claude himself had said that he’d take Hilda to the roundtable conference instead, and had encouraged Byleth to stay at Dimitri’s side until he recovered. Cryptically, he’d also added that Dimitri probably needed Byleth as much as Byleth needed him, and the latter had not deigned reply to that, feeling something hot rising on his cheeks.

Once at Garreg Mach, it was much easier to care for Dimitri, now surrounded by enough resources, and a much smaller need for secrecy. Dimitri was relocated into the quarantine room in Manuela’s infirmary, and after discussing the plan of care with the senior physician, Mercedes had announced that they would stop sedating him, and see how he woke up.

That made something stir within Byleth’s stomach, a simultaneous elation and apprehension to see Dimitri again. He wasn’t sure what to expect, nor what he wanted. Dimitri had clearly been through a lot, even before his capture at the Great Bridge, so he couldn’t expect the same boy he knew five years ago. However, he didn’t want to see the same beast he’d had to tame in the dungeons of the Myrddin fortress.

He didn’t think he could handle seeing Dimitri, _his _Dimitri, so broken once more.

With that in mind, Byleth began to spend a lot of time in the infirmary. At first, he only sat next to Dimitri’s comatose body, caressing his hand, but then, as Dimitri’s consciousness began to get lighter, and he started mumbling in his sleep, Byleth took more and more time away from the bedside, relieved that Dimitri was slowly waking up. He still had a responsibility to the other Blue Lions, anyway, and they seemed just as glad to spend time with him. Over shared meals, Dimitri became a recurrent topic of discussion, although Byleth always preferred talking about his recovery than how they found him originally.

Besides, he suspected that all of the Blue Lions had heard a retelling from Mercedes. It didn’t bother Byleth; he suspected that the sensitive young woman needed to share that traumatic experience to be able to move past it. As for himself, he just wanted to forget everything that happened in that cell, every fearful look in Dimitri’s only remaining eye, every tremor of his scraped hands, every wounded noise that left his bruised throat-

He couldn’t forget.

He needed Dimitri to wake up and assure him that everything would be okay.

With that thought in mind, he finished the last of his soup, bidding Felix and Ingrid goodbye as he got up. They seemed to know exactly why he’d cut their lunchtime short and nodded solemnly as they waved him off. Byleth quickly dropped off his dishes at the counter and exited the dining hall before anyone could stop him for a chat.

He made a beeline through the reception hall and climbed the stairs to the second floor two by two. He briefly greeted Professor Hanneman, who was leaving his laboratory to go eat lunch, presumably, and walked down the corridor until he reached the infirmary.

Not bothering to knock, he entered. Nobody was inside the main infirmary, Manuela also having gone for lunch at this hour, and he crossed the room to instead go towards the isolation room.

The quarantine-designated room was rarely used, but in this case, it was the best place to keep Dimitri before having gotten a full assessment of his mental status. The room itself was bare, with very few loose items that could be used as weapons, so if Dimitri got out of hand, he at least wouldn’t be able to hurt himself. Byleth grabbed the key off the wall and unlocked the door, stepping in hurriedly.

He barely closed the door behind him before realizing that Dimitri was no longer on the bed.

Instead, the covers had been thrown open, and Dimitri was nowhere to be seen.

“Dimitri?” he called out, frowning as he took a few steps into the room. It was dimly lit, as to minimize stimulation for anyone resting here, and the sunlight from the barred window only illuminated one part of the room. The rest of the room was plunged in a penumbra.

Taking careful steps forward, ears and eyes out for any movement, Byleth made his way to the adjoining toilet. The door did not lock, so he pushed it open, finding it disappointingly empty.

He retreated into the main room, trying to think. Had Manuela moved Dimitri elsewhere and had forgotten to tell him? Did they need to take him elsewhere for some sort of medical treatment?

Had… had something bad happened?

“Dimitri?” he called again, whipping around as if the object of his attention would suddenly peel off from the walls and answer his call. “Are you here?”

He fell silent, listening, and a ball of anxiety began to knot in his stomach.

“You’re here.”

The silence was suddenly shattered by a gruff voice, ringing out across the room almost deafeningly. Byleth whipped around, trying to locate the source of the voice- of Dimitri’s voice-, but finding nothing.

“Dimitri…?”

“You’ve come to haunt me, I suppose,” Dimitri continued, his deep voice rough from disuse. “I should have known that one day, you’d join their ranks as well and come to torment me.”

“I would never hurt you.” The accusation took Byleth’s breath away. “Dimitri, I promised you. I promised you I would never hurt you.” Following the noise, he approached the bed, although he couldn’t see how Dimitri could be anywhere near it.

“Promises are obsolete,” Dimitri scoffed, and this time, Byleth was sure it came from the bed. Taking a chance and kneeling down, he tilted his head to glance below it through the small gap between the base and the floor.

And, lo and behold, in the darkness, a single, piercing blue eye glared back. Byleth couldn’t make much out of Dimitri’s figure, but with the size of the bed, he’d be unsurprised if Dimitri had to be curled up to fit.

“Dimitri, get out from under the bed. How did you even get there?” Byleth sighed, looking around for an answer. The gap between the base and the floor was not nearly large enough for Dimitri to squeeze through, and the bed was bolted to the floor.

His heartstrings tugged when he realized that Dimitri must have been extremely driven to hide if he’d managed to make it under there anyway.

“This darkness suits me just fine,” Dimitri grumbled, and there was the sound of shuffling clothes as he presumably readjusted himself.

And Byleth understood.

It must’ve been terribly disorienting for Dimitri to have fallen unconscious in a disgusting prison cell, and then to wake up, clean and taken care of, in the infirmary of Garreg Mach. The darkness and tight space beneath the bed- it was just how he found familiarity, just like he’d found familiarity in the damp fur cloak back in the cell.

“I suppose you’re here to ask me to avenge you, as well,” Dimitri grumbled. “You need not ask. I will bring you Edelgard’s head soon, as I’ve promised everyone else.”

“Everyone else?” Byleth asked, frowning.

“Father, Stepmother, Glenn… And now, you. Fear not. I will lay you to rest soon.”

“Dimitri,” Byleth stopped him. “I’m not dead. I’m here, I’m real… I’m alive, and you are, too.”

“Hah.” Dimitri didn’t seem to know what to say to that. He didn’t seem to believe him entirely, but wasn’t outright accusing him of lies either.

“Dimitri,” Byleth continued, lying down fully on his stomach to continue looking under the bed. “I’m real. I’m alive. You’re at Garreg Mach Monastery, in the infirmary right now. It’s the year 1185, the 10th day of the Lone Moon, and it’s just past noontime now. Do you remember now, Dimitri? You’re safe.”

“Safe,” Dimitri echoed. “Truly?” He didn’t seem to believe Byleth, but there was an underlying innocence to the question, a desperate plea to be told he really was safe.

Byleth would never deny him that.

“Truly,” he promised once more, and slowly slipped his hand under the bed.

He let it rest there, not saying another word, and letting Dimitri take the reins. He stayed as such for a while, neither he nor Dimitri shifting.

And finally, after a long wait, Byleth felt Dimitri’s hand sit upon his, lightly, shyly, and then all at once. He said nothing at that, simply smiled to the darkness under the bed, and tangled their fingers together once more, as he’d been doing every day so far since they’d pulled Dimitri from the dungeons of Myrddin.

“You’re real,” Dimitri finally ascertained, and Byleth just hummed, his heart fluttering lighter than it had been in ages.

“Yes. I am.”

“Then, why are you here? If it’s not to beg me for revenge, why?”

“Dimitri…” Byleth sighed sadly, squeezing his hand just a little tighter. “I don’t know what’s happened to you in the years I was gone. I hope you will tell me someday. But know that I will never ask you for revenge. Not in my name.”

“You will not stop me from separating Edelgard’s head from her shoulders,” Dimitri sneered, making a move to pull away from Byleth, but Byleth held on tightly.

“I won’t,” he assured him. “But I also don’t want you to do it for anyone else but yourself.”

“The dead must have their tribute.”

“I see…” Byleth sighed. “Dimitri… Don’t you want to fight for the living, too?”

“All that the living know to do is to hurt,” Dimitri spat out viciously. “I may not be fully aware of my entire captivity at Imperial hands, but I do know this; when the living came for me, all they brought was pain. And when they didn’t come, I starved. They collared me like a misbehaving mutt and laughed when I choked. The living have no remorse, nor regret, and I owe them nothing.” He let out a shaky breath, and Byleth found it difficult to read his mood. He couldn’t tell if Dimitri was livid, or distressed.

Either way, he clutched tighter onto his hand, and Dimitri clutched back like a lifeline.

“The dead were the ones who kept me company. They were the ones who spoke to me when no one else did for days on end. They told me to stay alive- to drink the water on the ground and eat the rats that tore out my stitches in my sleep-“ His breath hitched, and Byleth realized that a now-familiar horror was welling up in his throat, quickly driving him to near tears.

“Dimi-”

“The dead made sure I kept my goal within sight, whispering that I had to live in order to take Edelgard down. The only thing they’ve ever asked of me is revenge, and I owe it to them, to all of them, to do just that- extract my revenge on the wretch who slaughtered them, and whose followers imprisoned and sentenced me, twice now over these past five years. I owe nothing to the living who come and go and only stay long enough to hurt me. The dead, however, will always follow me. Wherever I go, whatever I do, they will whisper to me, cry and plead and roar for justice.” Dimitri’s voice shook slightly at the end of it. “And when I bring justice to this world, it will not have been for the sake of the men who inhabit it.”

“Enough, Dimitri,” Byleth begged softly, unable to listen to him any longer.

Dimitri did not growl and snarl and whimper anymore like he did in the cell, but he was no less animalistic for it, especially in his present condition. Something had died in him, and Byleth was suddenly afraid that he’d never be able to get Dimitri back.

He may have been a demi-god, but he would only truly ever be human. And, right now, as human as he could be, he could only feel overwhelmed by the trauma he could see displayed in every one of Dimitri’s thoughts and actions.

Dimitri had been broken, and despite wanting to put him back together, Byleth had no idea where to start.

Holding his hand, though, felt like a passable first step. Dimitri no longer cowered from him, but actively sought him out, so Byleth figured that it could only go up from there. It felt insignificant in light of all the horrors that Dimitri had to endure, all by himself in the last five years, but Byleth couldn’t turn back time that far. The only thing he could do from here is move forward, hand in hand with Dimitri.

“Dimitri,” he finally spoke up, squeezing his cold hand to comfort both himself and the boy on the other end. The boy he cherished enough to imagine destroying an empire for. The boy he would move mountains and dry up rivers for. The boy he would bend time and space for. “I will be with you until the very end. No harm shall ever befall you again as long as I live and breathe.”

It was the promise of a lifetime, one that Byleth fully intended to keep. He hoped that Dimitri would remember it, too. And that perhaps, one day, he would return it, too.

Byleth would do anything for Dimitri.

“Let us achieve a better world, together,” he murmured. He felt Dimitri’s gaze on him despite not seeing him, and smiled, even though his entire body and soul begged him to weep for the damaged, but resilient young man he had the privilege to hold and keep by his side.

“Fine,” Dimitri huffed, though he didn’t sound too displeased. Byleth made a move to get up, hopefully to drag Dimitri out from underneath the bed, too, but the grip on his hand tightened, stopping him in his tracks. “For now, though… I’d rather stay here like this. Just a little longer.”

“Of course,” Byleth conceded, and lied right back down, his hand under the bed, and his eyes as well. From within the shadows, he could tell that Dimitri was looking at him, too, and for a moment, imagined that the lines on his face had smoothed out, and that the bruises had faded. He imagined Dimitri, as the man he knew him to be, as the King he would grow to become, and suddenly, all his worries were laid to rest for just one moment in time.

The floor was cold and Dimitri’s hand felt warm, and when Byleth inevitably dozed off, nightmares of Dimitri no longer haunted his thoughts. When he thought of Dimitri now, he did not see a beast, but a prince, a King, and a man who never again shied away from Byleth’s outstretched hand.

**Author's Note:**

> (Okay so basically Dima lifted the mattress, tore out the top of the bed's base, and slipped underneath the bed, putting the mattress back on top of him). I wanted to emulate animal behaviours with Dimitri in this fic, and it's mostly obvious in the scene inside the cell. It's also to be noted in this last scene; the last bit is literally him trying to recreated the environment of his cell, which was his only constant (as unpleasant as it was) for the past few weeks. You can imagine that blazing a fever due to several infections didn't help him stay in touch with reality, so the despair, pain and delirium drove him to his basest of instincts; that of a wounded animal knowing that it is dying, and yet trying to save itself. It'll take a little time, but Dimitri will move past his trauma and develop into a King worthy of the Crown of the unified Fodlan. 
> 
> Yeah, cause like I said, this is a cross between the BL and GD routes, so Claude fucks off to Almyra at the end of the game and leaves Dimileth to rule Fodlan together. He sends postcards tho, bc I'm a sap and I want Claude to stay BFFs with Dimileth. 
> 
> Also, I unironically love Ferdinand, and I don't know what's wrong with me. Ferdie/Lorenz is the superior ship, change my mind. I couldn't just kill Ferdinand in this fic, it just aint me, so uhhh... that's why he's in this. He's not particularly useful. I just like him. 
> 
> Okay, that's it, happy whumptober everyone! Come talk to me on social media to share the love. Thanks for taking the time to read this huge oneshot, and please comment with your thoughts. I'd love to hear what you liked, didn't like, and things you wanna discuss!!
> 
> PS: I'm gonna be at Anime NYC this year and Katsucon 2020. Hit me up for good 3H times, I love to hang out and I especially love to party at cons!
> 
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/CasuallyInvidia)  
[Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/invidiacasually/?hl=en)
> 
> -SS


End file.
